A Leader's Struggle
by Hotshot
Summary: You'd think that after handing off your role as leader to a new kid you'd be free of responsibilities toward the newsies forever. That's what Rebel thought, but he was wrong. Now he has to tell Spot to change his leadership methods, not an easy task, even


Disclaimer:  Ok, so Disney owns Spot Conlon, Racetrack Higgins, and Jack Kelly, but that's all I mention.  Rebel and the rest of the characters are all mine so don't use 'em.

A Leader's Struggle

By Hotshot

It is a given fact that most newsies will up and leave one day.  They do not keep in touch, nor care about the new generations.  If they hear of a death of those they considered friends they do not mourn.  It is the death of a man that could not escape his hellhole of a childhood home.  They just scowl and think that he didn't try hard enough to escape.  One a newsie leaves they seem to sign a contract that they will never again have anything to do with the lowly world of hustling customers and selling papers.

Most of them do escape it, mostly remaining just above it for the rest of their days as factory workers.  They live under the same miserable conditions but convince themselves that they are doing better.  It's better to work in this hot, stuffy room then roam the streets cheating people out of their money.  Except their pay might be lower, or higher, it really depends on where they work.  

The lucky few get a break.  They make some good business investments, or get involved with the right people.  They might be in trouble with the police, or maybe they're the person that controls the police instead.  Those lucky ones look back on their former lives with particular disgust.

There is one group of them that never forgets.  They see each other often enough and reminisce about the 'good old days' when they sold out early.  They laugh together over a beer and talk about their new jobs.  

You would think these men were the ones that failed, but more often then not they were fairly successful.  They all escaped the world, and returned to it by choice.  You would think these men were lonely and lived as hermits.  No, most of them had homes, and wives eventually.  They had good jobs and lived as sociable members of society.  And most of all you would think these men were the lowest in the ranking of some singular borough of New York.  As on all other points you would be wrong.  These were the leaders.

The leaders of eight out of nine boroughs in New York met up regularly to share a drink, a laugh, and stories of the new leaders.  O' Teri's pub was the most frequent place they would meet. It was nearly every week that they saw each other, so often that the owner had even given them their own booth, right near the bar.

The fact that they always met wasn't important though.  It was their discussions of the new leaders that were a main source on entertainment.  As former leaders they would be safe to go back to where they'd once led.  Anything they heard they'd tell that leader to improve on.  The new ones followed orders, eventually, but slowly and nonchalantly for no one could know they followed orders.

That was the topic in discussion this time. The leaders, the regrets, the improvements that could be made.

Ambition Bell of Manhattan was first to arrive, but as was customary.  He always got there early seeing as he lived just around the corner.  He didn't even speak as he went to the bar.  O'Teri was behind the bar and gave him the same thing.  They each had the same thing.  He took a seat at the end of a long table that sat near the bar.  He grinned as the door opened and the second member came stumbling.  This man hadn't been quite as smart.  Ambition again, grinned and laid his umbrella against his chair.  His comrade left a drenched coat on the coat hanger by the door. 

Code Torres of Harlem grumbled as he sat down.  He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and shook like a dog.  "It's really coming down out there."

"Yeah," Ambition agreed, "Poor kids."

Code just shrugged.  He knew what Ambition meant but didn't care to comment on it.  He'd been named Code for a reason.  Everything he said had more often than not a double meaning.  Ambition on the other hand just remained hopeful.  

Letter Ross of Queens arrived a short time later.  He had a newspaper under his arm and a pen tucked behind his ear.  He was probably the most successful of them all, a reporter for the Tribune, and a very popular one at that.  He sat down after a brief hello and opened the newspaper in front of him.  No real meetings started until everyone was there so he sat and read silently.

Red O'Connor of Midtown walked in barely ten seconds after Letter had sat down.  "How is everyone?" he asked as he walked to the bar and ordered a drink.  Ambition gave him a reply of 'good' for the entire group.  Red was generally calm and waited patiently until the bartender brought him the drink, making sure to leave a tip behind.  He set his drink on the table leaving a spot between himself and Ambition, and began to shrug off his coat.

Sting Velasques entered and glared at Red.  Out of the entire group Sting and Red were the only ones who really had a problem with anyone else.  Sting was the leader of the Battery and bad blood had started between himself and Red even before they left.  Unlike the two however, their replacements Hawk Feldman and Blue Warren had actually grown up as best friends.  Sting, who's name no one had a reason for, took a seat silently.

Diamond Jamieson of the East Side came in under the cover of an umbrella.  He tossed it onto the ground next to his chair and collapsed into his seat.  "Nice to see you, fellas." He said.  Out of all of them Diamond had the worst habit of pickpocket and had a specialty for stealing jewels off of high-class ladies.  Though that habit had reduced since he left the newsies everyone else watched their wallets around him.

Plain Mardini, the former Staten Island leader, came out from behind the bar as his shift ended and his replacement came in.  He poured himself a drink and took his seat among them and downed a shot, "I really need to find another place to work," he muttered, "too many drunks 'round here."  He raised his voice to yell at the new bartender to be careful as he dropped a bottle.  He was a very typical person in New York, thus called Plain.

The seven of them began chatting, though they held off on ordering drinks.  It finally began to get dark outside.  As it was summer it stayed light later, barely dark by nine.  They'd been there for more than half an hour when the final member came in.  It was pouring by then and he had a long trench coat to keep him dry.   

It was mostly his fault that there were only eight of them.  Though it was the ninths own fault that he was dead.  It had been a war over territory, one that Flick Maddel had started.  He'd threatened Brooklyn for months, and tried to gain the support of other boroughs.  His life had been taken during the fighting when he threatened the Brooklyn leader's brother.

Rebel Bennett, Brooklyn's former leader, left his coat on a hat rack by the door.  He took a seat between Red and Ambition.  "Sorry I'm late," he said, "I got out of work late."  Even after leaving the newsies Rebel still worked hard.  He currently had two jobs and would hold them both until he received a promotion from one or the other.  He needed both to pay his rent as well. It didn't matter though, that he worked hard, he was used to it.

"So what'd I miss?"

"Not much," Ambition said, "Red and Sting started us off with their usual spat about umm… don't remember, and Letter is writing an article on…uh…"

Letter rolled his eyes, "Overcrowding in tenements."

"Should be interesting reading," Code commented, "but we should probably just get down to business."

"Alright," Plain raised a hand signaling the bartender to bring over their drinks.  "Today's business is the kids us idiots left in charge."

"Hey," Letter interrupted, "I made a good choice."

Plain raised a hand for silence; "We all left good kids in charge, but a few of them have problems.  I mean I have seen huge problems in a few places.  The only ones those little squirts are gonna listen to are the ones that appointed them, so just consider this passing along valuable information."

Letter nodded, "Who's first then?"

Ambition started, "Manhattan, Jack Kelly."

Code laughed, "You have to admit that boy is a cocky little shit."

Ambition raised his drink in agreement, "That he is, but he's not having any problems.  He's not even so much of a leader.  The other boys can keep him in line."

"Next, Mayhem Boyle in Harlem."

"What'd he do now?" Code asked.

Diamond laughed, "Ain't that how you always talked about him?  He didn't do anything lately.  I think being responsible for all those boys mellowed him out a little."

Sting shook his head, "Except at that poker game.  Supposedly he started the brawl with Pyro."

"I'll talk to him," Code promised, "He'll watch himself if I warn him."

"What about Outrage Amadeo over in the Bronx?" Ambition looked toward Rebel.     

Rebel shrugged, "It's like he told me, he never gets mad.  He seems to be running his boys okay, but a few of Flick's followers are still hanging around."

"I'll go over," Red volunteered, "Midtown and the Bronx have a poker game this weekend."

Sting grinned, "Speaking of Midtown, Hawk Feldman?"

"Same as Blue Warren of the Battery," Plain interjected before another fight could start.  "You know those two.  They get along with everyone.  Ever since they replaced you two blockheads there has finally been some peace between the Battery and Midtown.  Let's not ruin it here."

"What about Pyro, what's his name, uhh… Foster.  You gave him Staten Island; how's he doin'?"

"No fires around there," Letter commented, "'least none that have been reported."

"He doesn't set fires that often," Plain glared, "And that brawl with Mayhem was probably at least partly his fault.  I'll see what happened, get him to back off a bit, but he does have a sister who sells in Harlem so I can see why he worries."

"Life McGowan, East side.  Say Diamond, how's he doing?"

"Living, same as the rest of us.  I've got to say he does a good job.  Those boys have been selling a hell of a lot better since I left.  Don't regret putting him in charge one bit."

"Night Matthews, Queens? C'mon Letter, what d'you think of you replacement?"  

Letter shrugged, "I been over there a few times this week.  He's still having a little bit of trouble with the older ones.  I swear Flick's boys came right over to Queens.  He near killed one of them last week though.  He told me they left when I saw him yesterday.  He got a nice shiner in the fight but he's holding his own better."

Code turned to Rebel, "Now the reason we all know we're here to talk about… the infamous Spot Conlon of Brooklyn."

Rebel drained the remainder of his drink without a word.  He put the glass down on the table in front of him and looked around at his friends.  

"He's an egotistical little bastard." Ambition said as he met Rebel's gaze.

"Hell yes," Rebel agreed.

"Look Reb," Red muttered, "We know he's your brother and all, and you thought you did right by leaving him in charge but…"

Sting took up the speech as Red trailed off, "But he really is too tough on everyone.  I mean, Rebel, the kid sends his men into other territories to spy.  He beats up _anyone_ who comes on his territory, even the new kids."

"They learn not to trespass then.  If he didn't do it they'd try to get away with more."

Letter rolled his eyes, "Rebel, the kids a menace.  Honestly, he keeps getting in trouble and he's starting to get on everyone's nerves.  If you're not careful he'll turn into Flick-"

"My brother is not going to turn out like that."

"I'm not saying he's a heartless ass like Flick was.  I know Spot isn't out to take over any other borough, but he has sort of pumped up Brooklyn's reputation over the past two years.  He intimidates the other leaders, I mean God, most are too scared to even try to fight him.  He starts problems and he's got absolutely no problem beating any boy within an inch of death."

Plain nodded, "Supposedly he's quite a ladies man too.  Picking up your bad habits."

"I wasn't that bad," Rebel countered.

"What we're saying," Ambition interrupted, "is that you need to talk to him.  We aren't saying he needs to be replaced, just that he needs to be shown his place.  Just tell him to tone it down a little."

"So you want him to be some mediocre leader?" Rebel asked, "You don't want this kid to exceed everyone's expectations?  Brooklyn has had the name of being the toughest borough for as long as anyone can remember, and he's the first leader in a while that's made that true.  I think he's doing a damn good job."

Code hushed him, "We just think that he needs to tone it down a little.  I mean he goes anywhere he wants.  Even in other boroughs, but if someone else comes on his…"

Rebel grinned, "He is an egotistical little shit, ain't he?"

"Yes," Ambition said, "Will you talk to him?"

"I'll go over to Brooklyn tomorrow; it's my day off."

They stayed at the pub for the rest of the night, reminiscing about the good old times, talking about families, work, girls, whatever they could think of to talk about.  Around midnight they all ambled out of the bar and back toward their homes.  They'd agreed to meet up again the next week.  Letter had an article on the newsies that was coming up and he needed input from the guys not to be biased borough wise.

Rebel strolled back to his apartment slowly, enjoying the night.  He was slightly pissed off.  Days off were not a normal occurrence and he was angry that he had to take time out of his day to go lecture his brother about his leadership abilities.

 The rain was the only thing that quickened his pace to get him back to Brooklyn.  A lone newsboy was standing on the corner near his apartment, less than five papers in his hand.  The boy was leaning against a lamppost looking tired.  He looked at Rebel and didn't even try to improve the headlines of the edition.

"Buy a pape, sir?" the boy asked.

"How many you got left?" Rebel responded.

"Four." The boy yawned.

Rebel had read the afternoon edition at the pub but dug out a dime.  "What's your name?"

The young boy looked at him reproachfully and replied quietly, "Mishap."

Rebel chuckled, wondering what kind of disaster the boy had caused to give him such a name.  He took the papers from the boy and handed him a dime. "Here, go back to the lodging house.  Brooklyn ain't a good place to be walkin' around at night."

"Thank you sir." The boy took off across the cobblestones as soon as Rebel's money was in his hand.

Rebel walked inside and up the stairs.  Once inside he dropped the soaked papers into the wastebasket and dropped onto his bed.  His head already ached from the alcohol, and he hadn't really drunken that much.  

*    *    *

            A tall lanky boy of about twenty wandered through the crowded Brooklyn streets on his way across town.  His coarse jacket, dull clothes, and cap would establish him as a member of the working class.  No one could tell for certain though whether he was a newsie or of some higher position.  It was late afternoon so the leader should be around.  Sure enough there were a few boys swimming and hanging around on the docks.  He strolled through them blending with the crowd.  One would have thought that he was always among them.  Only the actual Brooklyn boys knew the difference.  Several looked up at him as he passed and a few scowled at his unfamiliar face.

            One young boy even had the courage to stop him.  Many of Brooklyn's faces were new and this boy was among the ones he didn't recognize.

            The boy was barely half as tall as he was and skinny as a rail.  He must have been very new, as he approached Rebel trying to look mean and tough, a point at which he failed miserably.  "What d'you want?" He asked with a pathetic excuse for a scowl.

            "Get out of my way, kid," Rebel said, "I ain't in the mood."

            "You ain't from around here," the kid snapped, "Where you from?  Harlem?  The Bronx?  What do you want?"

            Rebel tried to step around the kid and push him out of the way but the little bugger was insistent and kept blocking Rebel's path.   Rebel quickly became frustrated with the kid's game and clenched his fists to keep from just hitting him.  He stepped back for a moment and looked around for a familiar face.  There actually weren't many.  Finally he found one, "Roman!"

            The tall, stocky Brooklyn boy was walking in the opposite direction and quickly turned around.  It didn't take him any time to decipher the situation and he smirked. 

            "Banks, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He asked approaching the two.

            "This guy ain't from around here.  This is Brooklyn territory."

            Roman groaned and ran a hand down his face in frustration with the child, "Banks, that's as close to Brooklyn as you get.  That's Rebel kid; he was leader before Spot."

            "Oh."  He looked up at Rebel apologetically.

            "Scram," Rebel said, not being in the mood to dwell on it.  As soon as the boy was gone he turned to Roman, "You know where Spot is?"

            Roman shrugged, "His room or the roof, probably.  Unless he's still selling."

            Rebel brushed past him with a quick thanks and made his way back from where he'd come.  At the base of the dock the newsboy's lodging house stood.  He walked in and was not even questioned.  While the owners of most lodging houses cared for their boys Brooklyn's, a Mr. Randolph, had never cared and only insisted they keep it reasonably clean and not be arrested on his property.

            He was halfway up the main stairway when he met the first occupant of the house that afternoon.

            "I heard you were looking for me."

            He turned to find Spot standing at the bottom of the stairs.  His arms were crossed and a scowl covered his face.

            Rebel retreated down the stairs, meeting his brother's glare squarely, "Don't scowl at me kid."

            "Don't call me kid."

            "Gabe."

            "What do you want?"

            "I can't just come visit my younger brother because I haven't seen him in a while."

            "You never have before."  Spot looked hard at him, "It's your council ain't it?"

            "Where do you want to talk?"

            "Main room.  It's a nice day; no one'll be back for a while yet."

            The two brothers took seats on opposite sides of a small, round table.  Spot comfortably propped his feet up on the table and leveled his chin so that he was looking his brother in the eye.  He knew why Rebel was there and neither of them really wanted to discuss it so they sat in silence for a moment or two.

            "I raised you better than that," Rebel finally broke the silence.

            Spot's feet dropped to the floor.

            "What do they want?"

            "Who?"

            "Don't play games with me Reb, you know who I'm talking about.  Ambition, Red, Sting, Letter, Plain… all those guys.  I know it's got something to do with them.  They want you to tell me off for doing something so what is it Dennis?"

            Rebel winced, "Only my employers can call me that.  You ain't in years."

            "I haven't needed to."

            "They think you're overstepping your boundaries." Rebel stated, "The lot of them.  I heard you beat up a boy from Midtown last week for coming into Brooklyn while they were selling, and a few from the Battery the week before."

            "Why shouldn't I have?"  Spot's eyes glazed over and the look of the Conlon pride seeped into his face.

            "Spot," Rebel snapped, "If they're new sellers they ain't gonna know where the boundaries are?  You don't have the right to beat up new sellers if they don't know any better."

            "They weren't new sellers."  If Rebel had been a tough leader Spot was ten times tougher, "Most of them have been around since before you left and they think they can get away with selling on Brooklyn territory.  They're nowhere near the borders either.  I found a few from the Bronx shoving that troupe of little kids, y'know, the group of eight and under, out of that selling space.  It's a good spot, which is why I gave it to the kids, so they'll learn.  I'm not gonna let some lazy bums steal a spot just 'cause they're too tired to work a little."

            "That's not what Red and Sting said."

            "That's 'cause Hawk and Blue don't tell them everything.  Those two are so laid back, and I even told them to warn they're boys.  Sent a message out to all the boroughs that I wasn't putting up with their scabs."

            "What about the trouble around here.  The bulls have been around Brooklyn a lot lately, and I saw plenty of your boys looking a little worked over."

            "They fight with each other; it ain't just me." Spot insisted, "Really Rebel, I don't touch those guys unless they needed and I barely beat 'em up that bad.  Got one kid pretty good last month, Bastard took it upon himself to just throw about five younger boys out of the lodging house so he and his friends could have a free bed.  He threatened them with a knife.  Now what else do you guys have a problem with?  I want this over as soon as possible."

            "Well, I don't like that ladies man rumor."

            Spot smirked at his brother's attempt at humor, "Can't help that."

            "I'll let it slide for now.  There's one thing that has to stop.  You can't threaten and intimidate the other leaders.  No one will fight you Spot, and you go wherever you please."

            "I don't threaten them," he protested under Rebels gaze, "Well, ok, a little bit.  But we have this group of us that meets up here and is trying to make up rules to run everything by."

            "Who's idea was it?"

            "Mine, Wiser helped me set it all up."

            "Good, hopefully that helps a bit.  But what else, your spies, intimidation… Any of this ring a bell?"

            "Leaders can go anywhere Rebel, not just me.  I have to intimidate them.  You didn't do anything about stuff and Flick came after the entire borough.  I'm not going to let this happen.  I know ever single other leader and I trust them.  I just don't trust them enough, and some of their boys…" I send a guy to each borough.  They observe and tell me what's going on.  That way I'll know if we're in trouble.  It ain't to help me expand, you of all people know I don't care about that."  

            "They just worry that you're gonna get power hungry and turn into Flick."

            Spot glared at him, "If I was anything like that monster I'd hang myself.  I am not Flick, and I never will be, but I am going to make a name for myself; a name for Brooklyn."  He looked at his brother who was staring back at him, but not really seeing him.  "What did you tell them when they brought all this up?"

            Rebel couldn't help but grin, "I told them off."

            Spot looked at his brother as they sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to decide if he was lying or not.  Finally he spoke.  "Well, you told me what those stuck up old muttonheads thought, now, what do you think?  How do you think I'm doing, and I want the truth."

            "I," Rebel stated, "think that you are one of the few leaders who are going to leave a lasting impact.  You are the only leader in all a New York whose boys actually respect him.  Damn, come to think of it everyone else's boys respect you too.  You're fifteen, Spot, and every single newsie in New York respects you.  Almost no one's willing to fight you.  Being on your good side is important to most of 'em.  By the time you're out of here there's no doubt in my mind that the name Spot Conlon will strike fear into the heart of every resident of New York.  Those guys just told me to come tell you to tone it down a little, but fuck Spot, you shouldn't have to.  I think what you're doing is great, really I do.  I got no problems with it, and as long as you don't got any qualms either I'm just going to go see them next Friday and tell them there's no problems with how you lead."

            Spot shook his head, "You'll sugarcoat it and tell them I promised to clean it up."  He didn't wait for a response before he continued; "There's a poker game between us and Manhattan tonight.  Racetrack Higgins thinks he's gonna clean us out, you want to stay around and prove him wrong?"

            Rebel stood up, "Can't, I got some stuff to do tonight.  Stuff around the apartment needs to be fixed and I got work early in the morning."

            Spot nodded in understanding and walked his brother to the door.  "You should come around more often, y'know.  I sorta miss having you around to talk to."

            "Why don't you come around and visit me then?"

            "Maybe 'cause I still don't know where you live.  You should tell me."

            "You got a new kid, Mishap?"

            "Yeah."

            "Ask him to show you were some guy bought him out Friday night.  Fourth floor apartment, number six."

            "Better not tell my other boys or they'll be expecting you to buy all of them out," Spot said, "He's a good kid, gets into all kinds of trouble but…"

            "Reminds me of you," Rebel nodded, "you and all your friends.  I'll talk to you later."

            "Bye."

            Rebel turned after about ten steps to find that Spot had already disappeared into the black depths of the lodging house and wasn't surprised to see him on the roof a few seconds later.  He nodded and walked back toward his apartment.  He passed Pickpocket and the tiny Mishap.  The latter looked at him in mild confusion.  

            He reached his apartment within the next half hour and threw his jacket onto an empty chair.  He collapsed at the table and stared out the window at the people passing underneath.  Going and saying all that to Spot had been harder than most of the things he'd had to do as leader of Brooklyn.  He'd thought that after leaving he'd be able to free himself of all the responsibility, but now he realized that wasn't even close to happening.  He didn't care what any of the others thought.  Spot was the perfect leader for Brooklyn.  No one else could handle that group of boys with as much ease; no one else could gain their respect.  Spot Conlon of Brooklyn did sound pretty good.   

A/N: Ok, this story was completely written out of boredom and me wondering how Spot ruled before the strike.  This is a year or two before that happened, and that's really all I can say.  I hope you guys liked it enough to leave a review.

~Hotshot


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